


Poison Ivy and Hammocks

by TypicalSadWriter



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: (Eddie does), Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Richie doesn’t think Eddie likes him, Self-Hatred, this ones pretty gay fellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypicalSadWriter/pseuds/TypicalSadWriter
Summary: during a too-hot and lazy day senior year, Richie Tozier struggles with his feelings for his best friend.





	Poison Ivy and Hammocks

It’s hot.  
As summer works it’s way through Derry, Maine, an unbelievable heat follows. Richie is convinced he’s going to start actually baking soon.  
He should be in the arcade today. Or at home. Somewhere with air conditioning.  
Instead, he’s sitting in the club house, waiting for Eddie.  
They have a sort of unspoken agreement. Every saturday, when everyone else is busy (or gone, like Bev), the two boys hang out together. It’s a bit of consistency as the rest of the Losers become too busy for each other.  
It’s much too hot to focus on his comic book, so Richie sets it on the floor and stares up at the ceiling instead. The hammock sways lightly from his movement, but it doesn’t really help cool his too-hot skin. The air is too hot for any kind of breeze to feel satisfying.  
He hears light footsteps on the ladder, and he scrambles to pick up his comic book again. He doesn’t want to look like he was just waiting around for Eddie like some kind of loser.  
He turns to a random page. He hasn’t even read this far yet, and he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on in the book. Not that he’s really absorbing anything, anyways. Not when he can hear Eddie dusting himself off, followed by the sounds of the same black shoes he’s always worn on the ground as he walks towards the hammock.  
“How long have you been here?” Eddie asks as he stands over Richie. Richie doesn’t even have to look up to know Eddie is raising both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. He looks up anyways, raising an eyebrow back. It just barely peeks over the thick frames of his glasses.  
“Not long. Why? You worried about little ole me?” he drawls, snickering.  
Eddie huffs, and he starts toeing off his shoes. He wants in the hammock. Richie already knew.  
“No, but I bet you’ve been in the hammock for well over ten minutes.”  
“Oh?” Richie sets his comic book down on his chest, chuckling, “and what if I have? What’re you gonna do about it, Eds?”  
“Don’t call me that,” Eddie responds out of instinct before adding, “and you need to get up. There’s an agreement in place-“  
“How often have you brought up this agreement? And how often does it actually work?” Richie interrupts. They have this argument every Saturday. Richie never gives in.  
Eddie huffs a bit, and Richie watches as he glares down at him. Richie’s stomach flips, and he knows what Eddie is going to do before he does it. This also happens every Saturday. Eddie crawls into the hammock anyways, one leg hanging off, the other resting by Richie’s head. Richie rolls his eyes, picking up his comic book again.  
It’s too hot. Much too hot for the two boys to be so close together. Richie isn’t going to say anything about it, though. He is hungry for moments like these in a way that always makes guilt build up in his chest. It waits for him like some monster, jumping out as soon as Eddie is gone and Richie can hate himself privately for the way he feels.  
They’ve matured a lot over the past few years. They’re almost done with high school. Eddie is barely touching his medicines. Beverly is living with her aunt. Ben has been volunteering at the library. Bill has been going to speech therapy (and normal therapy) twice a week. Mike has happily started looking at colleges in Florida. Stanley has been helping him, looking at colleges for himself. That leaves Richie. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s going to do after graduation. Eddie got accepted into a few colleges. Richie hasn’t even applied. The only thing that has really changed about Richie is his appearance. His hair is still a curly wreck all the time, but his face has matured a bit. He’s gotten taller, built a bit more muscle mass from running around all the time. Eddie’s body has changed in similar ways. He also holds himself a bit more confidently, though, now that he knows he isn’t some thing that is going to break at any second.  
They’re definitely too big to be fitting in the hammock.  
“What are you reading?” Eddie asks, pulling Richie from his thoughts of how close they are. How close they shouldn’t be. How much closer he wants them to be.  
“Porn,” Richie says, snickering to himself.  
“Asshole. That’s Batman,” Eddie says, nudging Richie’s face with his foot. Just like when they were kids...  
Richie huffs, pushing the foot away.  
“Yeah, but Poison Ivy is in this one. Same fucking thing if you ask me,” he drawls. He’s still holding onto Eddie’s ankle, keeping his foot at bay. He can feel the bones shifting through the tube sock, and he hates himself for the way his mind reminds him that he’s touching Eddie.  
“Let me read it?” Eddie asks, his foot making lazy circles in the air like he’s trying to figure out a way to pull it from Richie’s grasp.  
“No way! I’m reading it,” Richie insists, tightening his grip on Eddie’s ankle.  
“So, let’s read it together,” Eddie suggests, yanking his foot from Richie’s hold with a surprising amount of force. He shuffles around on the hammock, then, until he’s laying sideways next to Richie, his head next to Richie’s shoulder. It’s too hot. Richie licks sweat from his upper lip, blood rushing to his face. It’s too hot and Eddie is way too fucking close to him. Richie slowly turns back to the first page of the comic, holding it up for Eddie to read. He can’t focus on it. He just stares blankly at the page until Eddie nods to tell Richie he can turn it.  
Despite the faint smell of salt in the air from their sweat, Eddie smells really fucking good. He is still a bit of a clean freak, and he is constantly showering. He smells like he took one right before leaving the house. His shampoo is lavender. Richie has to restrain himself from burying his face in Eddie’s hair to get a deeper smell.  
He feels like a fucking creep, laying there and smelling his best friend. He wonders if Eddie can hear his heart pounding. Slowly, one of Eddie’s arms move. The one that used to be broken. It gets thrown right over Richie’s middle, and he feels his stomach swoop in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Eddie’s head settles on his chest wordlessly. His eyes are still trained on the comic book that Richie is now holding with shaky hands. It takes longer and longer for Eddie to nod, and about halfway through the comic book, he yawns.  
Richie risks glancing down at him, and his breath is taken away. Eddie’s hair is ruffled, and his cheeks are a bit flushed. He offers a beautifully sleepy smile to Richie, eyes drooping a bit.  
“It’s really fucking hot,” he says.  
Richie just nods.  
“It’s making me sleepy,” Eddie continues, yawning again, “I might go home.”  
“No,” Richie says before he can stop himself, closing the comic book.  
Eddie looks up at Richie, brows furrowing.  
“No?”  
“I’m sleepy too,” Richie says, and he wishes he could fucking stop himself before he speaks, “let’s just take a nap here.”  
Eddie frowns, brows knitting together as he studies Richie. Richie feels his stomach swoop again. Was that too much? Crossing the line?  
Finally, Eddie shrugs, resting his head on Richie’s chest again. Richie hesitates before setting his comic book on the (dirty) floor. Then, his arm snakes around Eddie’s shoulders, holding him loosely. The other rests on his own stomach, just under Eddie’s. He feels disgusting as he lays there. He shouldn’t be enjoying this the way he is. Eddie wouldn’t be laying here if he knew how gross Richie actually is.  
Eddie throws one leg over both of Richie’s and Richie feels his heart jump up into his throat.  
“G’night, Chee,” Eddie grumbles, though it is most certainly not night time. They’re probably only going to be able to sleep for an hour or so before the heat wakes them up sticky and too hot.  
“Good night, Eddie,” Richie whispers back, eyes trained on the ceiling. He feels Eddie’s hand move down, grabbing onto Richie’s. Then, his breathing evens out. Their fingers are sweaty where they are linked together and Richie has to take a few deep breaths before he can properly calm down. It’s just Eddie, after all. The same Eddie that he’s known for years, who’s a clean-freak, hypochondriac with mommy issues. He’s a loser.  
Richie’s heart clenches, looking down at Eddie. He’s drooling onto Richie’s chest.  
“Loser,” Richie breathes, trying to convince himself of this fact.  
But, a voice whispers in the back of Richie’s mind, you love him.

And yeah. Maybe Richie does, just a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, English wasn’t my first language so you’ll have to forgive me for any weirdly worded sections. Feel free to point them out to me so I can correct them! Kudos and comments are, as always, very appreciated. Thanks for reading. X


End file.
